


The Sins We Commit

by QueenPunk



Category: Bleach
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Femdom, Implied Masturbation, Light BDSM, Light Masochism, M/M, Phone Sex, Romance, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-03 23:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11542356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenPunk/pseuds/QueenPunk
Summary: “Yo,” his voice was a little strained, a little lost, a little desperate. A sweet heat spread through his veins, slicing his heart into pieces that he needed assistance in putting back together. “She’s gone. Wanna come over?”





	The Sins We Commit

**Author's Note:**

> I, uh, I actually started this fic shortly after 686 was released. As such, a lot of the emotions I felt at the ending kind of bled through--especially in the beginning. In the months since, I left the fic incomplete and just recently decided to finish it.

Ichigo nervously ran a shaking hand through his hair. The short strands stood on his head and he quickly tried to flatten them back down so he wouldn’t look like a psychotic chicken.

Orihime was fluttering around their house, their son dogging her steps with a worrying intensity. She kept wandering into the kitchen, glancing shyly at his face.

Ichigo swallowed down the barbed wire that was coiling in his throat. She wandered back into the kitchen, but, this time, she had her overnight bag slung over her shoulder. Kazui toddled in after her, smiling absently, lost in his own little world.

As she prattled on to him about precooked dinners she had in the fridge for him, all Ichigo could think about was what he should be doing. He should be hugging and kissing his wife and son goodbye, sorrowful to be separated from them for even such a short time.

Instead, he leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed over his chest. He listened to her voice, responding at the appropriate intervals, but he did not reach for her. He did not pull her close and whisper into her ear how much he would miss her. He did not swing Kazui up into the air and tell him to behave for his mother.

Ichigo stood there and wished they would leave quicker. Them being here with him made his throat hurt and his palms itch. He wanted to slam out of his body and grab his sword and cut down some Hollows to release the pent up energy in his soul.

Orihime grasped Kazui’s hand in hers. She paused and hesitated in front of him before standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. Her lips felt dry and papery against his skin.

The door shut gently behind her. The silence that he hated was thick in the clinic, pressing him down in all directions. His shoulders sagged under the weight.  
A rumble of thunder permeated the quiet of the clinic.

Ichigo slipped his cellphone out of his pocket, dialing the first number in his contacts.

“Yo,” his voice was a little strained, a little lost, a little desperate. A sweet heat spread through his veins, slicing his heart into pieces that he needed assistance in putting back together. “She’s gone. Wanna come over?”

“Yeah. Like usual or do you actually want to hang out this time, Ichigo?” the voice on the other end of the line purred his name like a promise. One that he hoped would be kept.

“Like usual,” he murmured, low as if he expected his wife to burst in through the door at any time. 

“Okay. Get the stuff ready and I’ll be over in about an hour. See ya later, Ichigo.”

The line went dead, silence and a beep.  
—————————————-  
It was so quiet.

Ichigo sat on the sofa, flipping channels on a muted T.V. If he wanted to, he could turn the sound on and wash away the silence. He could lose himself in some mindless program until they arrived. If he wanted to, he could call them and tell them not to come. He could drown in normalcy.

But, in the silence, he could hear the phantom sounds of his sister’s laughter, his father’s heavy steps and booming voice, he could hear both the living and the dead revolving in tandem around him. He could swim in the memories of the past. When they came, he would be able to lose himself in make believe. At least for a few hours, he could turn back the clock and be happy.

They’re running late.

Ichigo wondered if he should expect a call apologizing for not being able to make it. The wire in his throat wrapped tighter as he tried to swallow down the anxiety he felt at the thought. He could be fine if he was alone. He thought he could, at least.

If they didn’t come, he could finally wean himself off of his addiction. If they didn’t come, he could learn to float along amiably in this life. If they didn’t come, he could be n–

The doorbell rang.

Ichigo raced to the door with fire blazing on his feet.  
——————————-  
He slowed down at the door, sliding it open. His eyes focused on the only splash of color in the grey landscape. A few drops of rain landed between them, heavy and heartbreaking. Ichigo could feel the world getting smaller around them, shackling him to the body he inhabited.

“Where’s Rukia?” he asked, taking a step back to allow his guest room to enter. 

Renji scratched the back of his head, shrugging his way past him, “She had paperwork to do.”

Once inside, he turned back to Ichigo, a wicked smile gracing his mouth, “Why? Disappointed that you only got little old me to keep you company?"

Ichigo slammed the door closed, the rain outside slapping down hard. He grunted a response, “No. Just been awhile since it was just us.”

Renji’s dark eyes raked over him, predatory. He casually stalked closer to Ichigo, crowding him against the cool panes of glass. The light of the room caught across his back, casting severe shadows over his face and a white halo along the edges of his body. His teeth glowed, sharp and white like a wolf’s when a flash of lightning ripped through the sky.

His hands crept up to curve around Ichigo’s hips, thumbs pushing up his shirt to dig into the taut muscles that shivered underneath the feel of rough callouses.  
“Missed me?” he huffed against Ichigo’s lips.

“No,” Ichigo growled, grabbing his red braid like a leash and yanking him down those last few centimeters. He was tired of there being distance between them. He wanted closeness. He wanted the taste of blood. He wanted to experience molten lava pumping in his heart. He wanted to feel alive with the dead. 

The kiss was hard, bruising his lips with the intensity. Renji’s teeth nipped at the yielding flesh of his bottom lip. Their tongues met in a sloppy dance, both entirely too eager to become reacquainted with the other’s body.

In a whirlwind of alternating aggression and affection, they fumbled their way into the bedroom.

Ichigo found himself lying on the bed–his marital bed, holyfuckwhatwashedoing?–with shiny, swollen lips and bereft of his shirt. Renji’s hand was pressed against his chest, forcing him to lay back. Straddling him and hovering above him, Renji rolled his hips to press against Ichigo’s obvious erection.

“You’re a little excited there, Ichigo,” he laughed, his other hand coming down to play with the button on Ichigo’s jeans. “Don’t cream your pants before we get to the good parts.”

“Shut up,” Ichigo snapped, face red. He pushed the hand away that was pinning him. Ichigo reached up, grabbing the back of Renji shirt to yank it over his head. Renji–forced to cede his earlier action–lifted his arms to assist. The tattoos on his body danced over the shift of powerful muscles. Ichigo licked his lips and wanted to lick the bold, thick, black lines. 

And so he did.

He surged forward and mouthed at the stripes cutting across the sides of Renji’s neck, his hands curved around his back, raking his nails down the pattern. He had them perfectly memorized, could close his eyes and imagine them in his mind when desire was present but they weren’t.

Renji groaned, resting back and lolling his head to the side to enjoy the attention. He brought his own hand up to cup the back of Ichigo’s head, his fingers playing with the short strands of his hair.

Ichigo worked his way down, pressing the flat of his tongue along the array that spread over Renji’s pectorals. With a sly smirk, he kissed the skin at the lower point of one of the tattoos before bending lower and capturing a pert nipple in his mouth. He sucked hard and threateningly rolled it between his teeth.

Renji’s grip on his hair tightened and he muttered, feigning leisureliness, “If you really wanna suck on something, I got something that’ll keep your mouth busy for a while.”

Ichigo bit down onto the sensitive bud. 

“Fuck!” Renji howled at the pain, writhing in Ichigo’s lap. Ichigo rolled his hips into the friction, releasing his hold on the nipple with an audible pop. As he pulled back, a thin trail of saliva followed his lips.

“Masochist,” he mocked, taking advantage of Renji’s daze to flip the taller man onto his back. Now, Ichigo was on top and at a greater advantage to exert his control.  
He placed a disturbingly chaste kiss at the center of Renji’s chest. His hands made quick work in unbuttoning Renji’s jeans. Renji lifted his hips as Ichigo worked them down, his cock bobbing obscenely as it was set free. As he cast the pants to the side, he couldn’t help asking, “Commando again? Do you freeball it in the Soul Society as well or is seeing me such a special occasion?”

Renji shifted underneath him and when he answered, his voice was a low rumble, “Makes things easier, don’t it?”

Ichigo hummed, wrapping his fingers around the base of Renji’s cock, a tangle of rusty hair scratching at the skin on the back of his hand. 

“Funny how you didn’t answer my question,” he muttered, his fist bobbing over the hard dick at a languid pace. Renji started thrusting up to meet the movement of Ichigo’s hand, mumbling, “Fuck, fuck, that feels good,” underneath his breath.

Drops of precome beaded at the head, sliding down the shaft. Ichigo blew a thin stream of air at the reddened tip and Renji trembled at the sensation. He bent forward, running his tongue from the base almost to the tip–avoiding the spot that would drive Renji wild. With his other hand, he played with the sensitive skin on Renji’s balls before mouthing at one, sucking it into his mouth.

The weight of Renji’s hand on the top of his head caused Ichigo to glance up. As he continued his ministrations, Renji was staring down the expanse of his body at him, his brown-black eyes enraptured in a flushed face. 

Ichigo smirked at the attention and–with his eyes fixed on Renji’s–he wrapped his lips around the head of Renji’s cock.

Instantly, Renji’s back arched upwards with a shout, his hips snapping forward to try and force more into Ichigo’s mouth. He kept the insistent hips down with his hands, a little miffed that Renji was able to dislodge his hold for a second. He used to be able to pin him down with his spiritual pressure alone. Now, he was weak. Pathetic.

He was a blade hidden in a closet. He was dull. He was useless. He was purposeless. He was a lie shrouded in a corpse-like puppet pretending to be normal.  
Ichigo felt the prickle of his damned leash lace around his throat. His mouth went dry. He sucked Renji’s cock in a little deeper, smearing the leaking head with his tongue. The bitter cum slid down, smoothing out the barbs. He lapped at the sensitive underside of the head, losing himself into the motion and the symphony of expletives raining from Renji’s mouth. 

Inch by inch he allowed Renji to press further in until the head was poking against the back of his throat. He shot a mischievous glance upwards.

“Don’t do it,” Renji warned, panting heavily. “Ichigo, I’ll fucking come.”

Then fucking come then, Ichigo thought viciously, swallowing him down further and flexing the muscles in his jaw. 

“Oh–damn it, fuck it,” Renji hissed between clenched teeth, fingers yanking Ichigo’s head back painfully. His hands trailed down off of his head to trace his reddened, cum slick lips. Ichigo gasped for air, mouth hollow. Those large and tattooed hands ran down the sides of his neck, temptingly squeezed, thumbs pressing against his jugular. They went lower, caressing his shoulders before hooking under his armpits to drag him up and under him. 

Underneath him, Ichigo glared up at Renji, “You didn’t come.”

“That’s a good thing, jackass.”

“I wanted you to come,” he murmured, reaching up to play with the band that held Renji’s hair back. He wished that he would kiss him again.

Renji ignored him and asked brusquely, “Where’s the lube? I thought I told you to get the shit ready!”

Ichigo pried the top band off, sliding it down over the red plaits. “If you’d shut up and look you’d see that they’re on the dresser, dumbass.”

While Renji muttered under his breath and crawled away to grab the lube, Ichigo struggled out of his skinny jeans. Renji laughed when he crawled back, pouring a generous amount of lube into his hand. With his dry hand, he grabbed a belt loop and maneuvered Ichigo onto his front, bare ass in the air. 

Ichigo continued to struggle to try and pry the jeans off of himself when Renji managed to demand in between his chuckling. “No, no, leave ‘em on, Ichi. It’ll be nice having you at my mercy.”

He snorted and grumbled into the comforter, “Fuck it.”

“Baby, I’m trying,” Renji laughed, kneading one cheek, thumb brushing the edge of Ichigo’s hole. His other hand reached around to stroke at Ichigo’s neglected cock, heavy and swaying between his trapped legs. 

He whined as Renji started to lazily jerk him off. The thumb pressed into him, a teasing pressure. He didn’t know if he wanted to press into the hand around his dick or the fingers that were about to go into his ass. Before he could decide or be driven mad, Renji’s lubed hand was removed. 

He shook his hips and protested, “Put it back! I swear to whatever is keeping this fucked up universe in place that if you don’t–”

Ichigo yelped as a stinging slap was delivered to his rear and Renji growled, “Quit your complaining or I’ll fuck you raw and leave your dick hard. You wouldn’t like that now, would you?”

The hand around his cock cinched like a vice around the base and he desperately tried to thrust into the tight, heavenly grip. Renji’s threat burned in his mind and he bit his lip to fight back a moan. Renji was wrong. He would love being fucked as the nothing that he was, left empty and aching and begging for release. 

Renji bent over him, pulling his cheeks apart and rutting against his exposed asshole. He nipped at the shell of his ear and whispered, his words dripping with filthy intention, “You’d like that, though, wouldn’t you? Answer me, Ichi. Do you want me to fuck you bloody? Do you want me to tie you up and put you on display? To show everyone what a little fucking slut you are?”

Ichigo whimpered and his tongue clumsily stumbled over itself, a complete sentence failing to form, “Renji, R–enji, oh, please. I don’t–Renji! Fuck, please, I want–I want—”

“I know what you want,” he crooned, planting a kiss on Ichigo’s shoulder. He pressed the tip of his cock against his hole. Ichigo keened and pressed against the blunt head, wishing that it would stab into him. 

Instead, Renji replaced his dick with lube-slicked fingers. Two thick fingers went inside of him, scissoring against his walls. 

“More,” Ichigo panted, longing for the burn and stretch of being filled. “More, more, please, Ren–ji, please. I want–”

“I hear you, Ichi,” Renji said, forcing in a third finger, all three curling downwards.

No, you don’t, is what Ichigo wanted to say but nothing resembling that fell from his mouth, his speech reduced to one worded gasps and pants. His frustration increased as he couldn’t move his hips closer. Renji’s hand around his cock was unmoving, his grip preventing him from thrusting either back into the hand prying him apart or thrusting forward. 

Renji wedged in his pinky finger–mostly just to show he could–the bastard. Ichigo’s hands spasmed where they lay over the blanket, biting his lip until he tasted blood. 

Ichigo nearly shouted when Renji brushed against his prostate, his cock dripping with precome.

Abruptly, the fingers filling him were removed and the hand around him was removed. He clenched around emptiness, loose and open. Renji bowed over him, kissing and nipping along the back of his neck and the knobs of his spine. The head of his dick edged into his gaping hole.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Nnngh,” Ichigo managed to mumble, pressing his face into the comforter.

“It’s a yes or no question, babe. Do you want me to fuck you until you can’t walk or not?”

Ichigo tried to find his bearings, gasping for air, his heart jackhammering in his chest like a trapped beast. Renji started to pull away. Panicked, Ichigo pulled himself together and gave his consent, “I want you to fuck me! Just go ahead and stick it in!”

“That’s more like it,” Renji growled, relaxing above him. 

He had barely lost himself once more into the act when Renji slammed into him, setting a brutal pace. Ichigo pushed back against the assault, meeting him enthusiastically thrust for thrust. 

He could feel Renji’s puffs of hot breath on his back, punctuated by his enthusiastic moans and filthy praises. A hand dug bruising fingers into the flesh of his ass, massaging the already red skin. The hand around his cock was released, moving up and over from his stomach to the back of his head. Renji’s fingers threaded into the short orange hair, yanking him back until his spine arched backwards into a tantalizing curve.

In the new position, Renji adjusted his angle of thrusting. A powerful rocking of his hips drove into a spot within Ichigo that made him see stars. His cock jumped at the alternate stimulation, a thin drop of precome falling onto the blanket beneath him. He was so close, so close, so close…

A phone rang.

Both men froze.

The hot passion that had flooded their veins came to a screeching halt, leaving them cold and unsure. The implications of what they had dived into slapped them in the face. Orihime had never called before. Did she know? Was she checking up on him because she suspected his indiscretions? What if she heard through Ichigo’s voice? Would she want a divorce? Would she take Kazui away from him?

Even as Ichigo felt terror in his heart, he also felt a sick sense of peace and excitement. If she found out, he would be free. He wouldn’t have to be trapped or feel guilty for sneaking around behind her back. If she was hurt by this–and she would be–he could unleash all the pain roiling underneath his skin about the sham of a marriage they had. If she took Kazui–okay, that one would hurt a little–but he wouldn’t be staring in the face of the catalyst that started this whole mess.  
He could leave this world. He could lead the life he had always wanted.

Ichigo started to fumble around–the cock in his ass slipping out–looking for his phone. It was on the nightstand. He picked it up with trembling hands. He prepared to click the answer button.

The screen was blank. His phone hadn’t rang. The battery was completely dead. 

Behind him, Renji warily answered his, “Uh, hello?”

Ichigo turned around, his shoulders sagging. Relief? Disappointment? He felt nothing. He wanted to sink back down into the depths of sexual pleasure and forget the world again and again and again until he no longer had to care about what he was needed to be. 

Renji snagged Ichigo’s ankle with his free hand, dragging him back underneath him. Ichigo glared halfheartedly up at him, but went along with the manhandling.

“Hey, Rukia,” Renji’s voice brightened, his face lighting up.

Ichigo whimpered, his body aching with a new want. Renji–Renji was a connection to his past. Renji made him feel alive when they met in the shadows. But Renji wasn’t Rukia. No matter how much he cared for–possibly even loved–the man, he would never eclipse the bond that connected Rukia and him.  
He reached up and tugged at the arm holding the phone. “Let me talk to her!”

Renji batted his hand away, continuing his conversation with Rukia. 

“Yeah, I got here alright,” he drawled, reaching down to stroke Ichigo’s flagging cock and bringing it back to full hardness. “Me and Ichigo were just getting to the good part when you so rudely interrupted, Rukia.”

He purred her name--as a way to excite her and tease Ichigo. 

Bastard, Ichigo cursed mentally as his hips thrusted up into Renji’s fist. He tried begging, “Renji--let me talk to her. Fucking please. I need to.”

Renji raised his eyebrows, lips twisting into a devious smile. “Oh, so you need her, don’tcha? Well then I guess you can do without this.”

With that said, he released his grip on Ichigo’s dick and placed onto his pale thigh--tormentingly close enough to tease with the heat of his hand. Before Renji could exact anymore torture onto the him, Rukia’s indecipherable voice barked over the phone, making her desired orders clear to him. Renji frowned, but pressed a button and set the phone onto the dresser. 

“Hello, Ichigo,” Rukia murmured over the speaker, her tone hushed and slightly breathless. In just that one sentence, he could picture her reclining in her bed with a phone set between her chin and shoulder--her legs spread as she worked her clit slowly with her fingers. He licked his lips and tried to remember the taste of her in his parched throat. “Is Renji treating you well?”

Before he could even think of an answer, Renji slid down until his breath ghosted over the slick head of his cock. There was no warning as he took the whole into his mouth and began bobbing his head, twirling his tongue at the tip and sucking in deep the closer he got to the base. His hands yanked Ichigo’s jeans down his legs and he brought them back up to palm and scratch at his thighs.

Ichigo moaned and panted, writhing underneath the ministrations of his partner. Rukia’s breathing hiccuped over the phone as she listened in on them. 

“Does that feel good, Ichigo?” she hummed sweetly. “Do you like it when Renji sucks your cock for me? Wouldn’t it be much nicer if I was there to help him?”

Instantly that conjured up images of Ichigo down there with Renji, her inky black hair tickling her thighs as she lapped at his balls, purple-grey eyes fixed on his face as he lost himself. He started to thrust upwards into Renji’s mouth, spurred on by his fantasies. 

“I think he’s about to cum, Renji,” she teased, sounding pretty closer herself. “You should stop.”

Renji gave his cock one last strong suck before pulling off and wiping the spit off of his chin. His voice was raspy and ragged as he asked, “What should we do to him now, Rukia?”

“Fuck him for me,” Rukia commanded, her sentence increasing in pitch as it went on.

In one swift movement, Ichigo’s legs were finally free of his jean and he used his newfound freedom to wrap them around Renji’s waist. Renji slipped his cock back inside of him and began rocking with an increasing rhythm into him. Ichigo’s hands reached up to lace behind Renji’s head to pull him down into an open-mouthed kiss filled with soft lips and searching tongues. 

“Nngh,” Rukia whimpered. “How’s he looking?”

“Perfect,” Renji answered, adjusting his angle to hit Ichigo’s sweet spot directly.

“Hah-ha-hot,” was Ichigo’s response before he latched his teeth into the juncture between Renji’s neck and shoulder to hold back his screams. He pulled back a little to mumble against sweaty skin, “Miss you guys so much--so much--so--ha--fuckin’ muc--”

“I know, I know,” Renji chanted, his hips starting to thrust erratically as he drew closer and closer to completion. 

“You can cum--oh, fuck I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” Rukia keened. 

Drowning in Rukia’s voice and Renji’s proximity and the friction against his prostate and the unfurling of freedom within his chest, Ichigo came with a shudder and his come landed on both of their stomachs and chests. Almost immediately, Renji tensed up with a loud groan, coating Ichigo’s insides.  
In the aftermath, the two men curled up on top of the blankets, enjoying the peaceful silence that seemed too sacred to waste pillowtalk on. Rukia’s soft breathing came out through the phone, slowing down and deepening before quickening once again as if she were fighting off sleep. 

Renji had just fallen asleep when she finally broke the quiet, “Ichigo…?”

“Yeah, Rukia?”

“I love you.”

“I--,”before he could finish reciprocating the sentiment, a soft shudder ran through the house that had him sitting up in a flash. 

In the floor below them, Orihime’s voice called out, “Ichigo?”

He should kick Renji out. He should put his clothes back on. He should be running downstairs to greet his wife. He should be planning excuses to give her for why there was a naked man with hi in their bed. He should feel guilty. He should be driving his sword into his guts to pay for his sins.

He should. But he didn't.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are much appreciated and keep me writing!


End file.
